


Bravery and a Bowline

by Yergink



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pranks, Pyromania, general dst antics, implied willow/wilson - Freeform, its very slight, the general existential terror of being trapped in the constant, willow trying to be a responsible adult, woby being a Good Dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yergink/pseuds/Yergink
Summary: After arriving in the Constant and wandering for days, Walter finds that he is less alone than he thought.
Relationships: Walter (Don't Starve) & Wendy (Don't Starve), Walter (Don't Starve) & Willow (Don't Starve), Webber & Wendy (Don't Starve), Willow & Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been about three years since I've written dst fanfic but I love Walter and he deserves it so here we go.  
> This is _vaguely_ based on a world where me and my friends were playing these characters but mostly it's just that I was amused by the idea of Willow getting stuck babysitting.  
> A couple notes:  
> It's autumn and not winter like in Walter's introduction short because I like the Aesthetic of autumn better and that's the only reason.  
> At this point, Walter has been in the Constant for just a few days and has been doing relatively well on his own.  
> I know Willow admits to not having actually been in the girl scouts but I don't think she'd necessarily do that without some prompting and I have Plans for it later.  
> Rating may change just means I might up the fic to teen depending on violence/language in later chapters.

The campfire at his feet has begun to simmer out, and Walter does his best to roast the remainder of his collected berries on the licks of flame before they completely die. Woby sniffs at his hands, stained with the red of the burst berries, and gives a cursory lick at his wrist before Walter pulls away. “Not for you,” he chides, opening the pack she’s carrying and stuffing the berries inside. “I don’t know if they’re safe for dogs.” 

She whines, wagging her tail, and Walter thinks she knows what he means. He still has a few scraps of spider meat, which she seemed to like, so he gives her a bit of that before they keep going. 

Most of the day has already passed, and so far Walter has been chased by a swarm of frogs, a pair of fishy smelling swamp creatures, several large spiders, and a mechanical horse, which is better than yesterday, but still not ideal. He’s found it best to keep moving, and Woby seems to agree with him, always yapping and whining to get him away from whatever creature’s he’s found. 

Right now, they’re passing through a passive looking valley, filled with soft grass and flowers. And sure, he’s seen a few bees flying around that looked nearly the size of his palm, but Walter knows that bees won’t mess with you if you don’t mess with them, so he’s been kindly avoiding the hives as best he can. 

There’s a makeshift path cutting through the field, where the grass is overlaid with pebbles and bare dirt. He’s been vaguely following it, making pit stops to collect berries and firewood along the way. 

As they keep walking, he spots something, a slight indent in the dirt and gravel. Walter immediately brightens. It’s a footprint, the first sign of human inhabitation he’s seen since he got here. 

He kneels into the dirt to better inspect the track, ignoring the grit that dirties his knees. At the sound of sniffing beside him, he turns. 

“Smell something, girl?” he asks. 

Woby barks and wags her tail, which Walter takes as a yes. He grins at her, scratching her head in the space between her horns as she sidles up closer to him. “Good girl, Woby,” he praises. “You’re gonna be a master tracking dog one day, I know it.”

After administering a few more rewarding scratches, Walter stands back up. Woby yips, trodding ahead along the path. She keeps glancing back at him, looking apprehensive from what Walter can tell, and so he takes the lead, continuing along the shoddy gravel road. In the distance he can see the shape of a forest, rising up above the flat of the plains. It’s a line of tall, deciduous trees, their leaves bright with the colors of autumn, and he figures that, if nothing else, he’ll be able to gather enough wood to set up a camp for the night. Besides, he’s always felt more comfortable amongst trees. 

So he pushes forward with Woby padding behind him, determinedly optimistic. The forest grows closer, and as the sun shifts in the sky, the shadows of the trees grow longer, stretching out towards him. He’s only a short sprint’s distance away when he stops. 

There’s a patch of bushes and grass at the forest line, which Walter can’t quite see through. Woby runs towards it, barking, before backing away. She repeats this a few times, looking a bit distressed, and Walter calls for her to heel, trying to calm her down. She listens, and it keeps surprising him just how well trained she seems to be. He tells her to sit as he approaches the tree line. 

There’s only about a meter or so between him and the bushes when he hears a low whine from behind him. Apparently, Woby isn’t well trained enough to keep still, because she’s at his heels again, her ears anxiously lowered. While that might be cause for concern, earlier she’d gotten startled by a butterfly, so Walter thinks it’s just in her nature to be anxious. 

He holds down the top of the bushes and stands on tiptoe to peek over the top. The sight catches him off guard. 

There, at the roots of one of the trees, is a girl. She’s lying on her back, her head resting in a pile of leaves, with her hands folded over her chest and her eyes closed. It’s sort of creepy, but Walter can see she’s breathing, so he figures she must be asleep. Still, she looks so still and pale that he starts thinking over first aid techniques as he squeezes through the bushes to get closer. 

The leaves coating the forest floor crunch under his feet, and the girl’s eyes open at the sound. They’re startlingly wide, colored an eerie gray, and she tilts her head back far enough to be able to look at him without getting up. 

“Uh, hi there!” Walter tries, a bit awkwardly. The girl isn’t smiling, although he doesn’t know if that makes this more weird or less. “What are you doing?” 

“Practicing being dead,” the girl replies, looking back up at the sky and closing her eyes again. There are bits of grass and dirt stuck in her light blonde hair, though she doesn’t seem to mind. He notices that she looks a bit younger than him, with a flower clipped in her hair. 

Walter frowns. “You probably shouldn’t lay on the ground like that. You could get poison oak.” He hasn’t seen any so far, but you never know. It’d be hard to check anyway, with all the leaves on the ground. 

The girl sighs, lifting herself into a sitting position. She pulls a leaf out of her hair. “If only I could be as lucky as to encounter something so mundane.” 

Privately, Walter finds this an odd thing to say, but he doesn’t comment on it. Maybe this girl is a wilderness survivor or something. Or at least well-read for her age. His mom always told him he shouldn’t be quick to judge. So he just steps to her side and holds out a hand to help her up, which she takes. 

Now standing, she looks him up and down for a moment, and Walter feels oddly scrutinized under her gaze. “I haven’t seen you before,” she says, suddenly. “Where did you come from?”

“Huh?” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she repeats, expectantly. Walter turns, lifting a hand to point out of the forest. 

“I came from over there,” he says. “I had to walk through a forest. And then a swamp. And then I saw some footprints on the path and followed it here.” 

“I see,” the girl says. 

He thinks she’s going to ask him another question, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she crosses her ankles and does a little curtsy. “I’m Wendy,” she says. “What’s your name?”

“Walter,” he answers. 

There’s a bark, and then the sound of something scrambling through the dirt before Woby bursts out of the bushes as well. It seems to startle the girl a bit, who takes a quick step back. 

“And that’s Woby,” Walter says proudly. At her name, Woby rushes to his side, and he ruffles her fur as she sits beside him. 

“Oh. It’s friendly.”

“Yeah, she’s a good girl,” Walter says. Woby barks in agreement. 

For a moment, Wendy just looks over the two of them. Then she turns, gesturing for him to follow. “You should probably come with me,” she says. “I can take you back to where we camp. It’s safer there.” 

He glances at Woby. She cocks her head to one side, ears perked. If Woby seemed comfortable with it, he figures it must be alright. “Alright,” he affirms, and starts to follow behind Wendy. 

As they walk, the wind shakes through the trees, pulling more leaves off. Walter tries to catch them as they fall, and Wendy eyes him a bit incredulously upon seeing him slow down. “What are you doing?” 

“If you catch a leaf, you can make a wish,” he explains, managing to pull one out of the air. 

Wendy doesn’t look convinced, but she stops, watching as he closes his eyes, holds the leaf, then drops it. 

“What did you wish for?” she asks. 

“To discover a new bug species.” Walter pauses. “Do you think those big spiders count? Though I guess you must’ve already found them.” 

Woby barks, jumping to try and catch a leaf in her mouth. Wendy keeps walking, seemingly uninterested in joining in, so Walter quickly calls for Woby to come and continues as well. 

“Hey, how come you’re out here by yourself?” he asks after a few moments of silence. 

“I was playing hide and seek,” she says. “Although, I think the seeker might have gotten distracted. So I decided I would practice being dead instead.”

“It was convincing,” Walter admits. “You almost tricked me.” 

She doesn’t smile, but Walter thinks there’s a bit more light in her eyes when he says that. 

They exit the forest, and the grass under their feet gets thicker as the forest floor gives way to plains. There’s one of those spider nests tucked close to the tree line, and Wendy starts veering towards it. It’s smaller than the ones Walter saw in the pine forest, and the afternoon light seems to have brought the spiders out to roam. Woby whines as they get closer, nearly tripping him as she weaves around his legs. “Easy there, it’s okay,” he murmurs to her, trying to get her to calm. 

Wendy doesn’t seem to pay the spiders any mind. She comes to a stop a short distance from the nest, then calls out, “Webber!” 

Walter watches in surprise when one of the spiders turns, and he realizes quickly that it’s got arms and legs and looks a lot like a person upon further inspection. It starts towards them, waving one of its hairy arms in the air. Wendy crosses her arms, looking impressively stern for such a young girl, and then the spider seems to pause, its eyes going impossibly wide. 

“Oh Wendy, we’re sorry!” the spider says in a voice that sounds like two voices at once. “We started playing with our friends and forgot about the game.” 

She sighs. Walter doesn’t think she looks all that disappointed, so he figures this is relatively normal. Although, he’s never heard of spider-people before. Then again, he’s also never heard of spiders as tall as people or dogs with horns or really any number of the creatures he’s encountered so far, so he figures that this place just has some rare native species or something. 

“It’s okay, Webber,” Wendy says. “I’m taking this boy back to camp, anyway. We can play hide and seek again later.” 

The spider nods, the legs on its face bobbing up and down. “Okay! We’ll go back soon, too.”

“Don’t be too long. Willow told us to get back before dark.” 

With that, she turns and starts walking away, and Walter hurries to follow. “That was Webber,” she tells him when they’re far enough that he can’t hear the hiss of the spiders anymore. “He’s kind of weird, but he’s nice. I like him.” 

“I didn’t know you could make friends with the spiders,” Walter comments. They’d been rather unreceptive to his attempts to tame them earlier, and Woby got upset whenever he tried to approach the nests, barking and biting at his shoes to keep him from getting close. 

Wendy hums. “Webber’s different,” she says, and does not elaborate. 

The sprawl of the plains continues, broken by a few ponds, trees, and tufts of tall grass. Wendy seems very sure of where she’s going, even without a map or compass, which Walter finds rather impressive. She must be very familiar with the landscape, and he wonders how long she’s been out here. She said they were going to a camp, which presumably also had other people in it, so he thinks it’s fair to assume that they’ve been out here for a week or so at least. 

He follows Wendy and Woby follows him, and they cut a line through the grass. A structure begins to take shape out of the plains, hidden somewhat behind a short hill. Wendy leads him over the top of it and as they crest, Walter can’t help but let out a small gasp. 

There’s a fully-fledged campground built amongst the field, with stone-brick walls guarding it. Wendy tugs on his arm to get him to move again, and together they scurry down the hill towards it. 

A thin plume of smoke rises from inside the walls, and when Wendy opens the front gate and gestures him inside, Walter sees that it’s coming from a firepit in the center of the camp. There’s a young woman tending to it, the glow of the flames casting her face in orange. She looks over at the noise, standing up and dusting off her skirt.

“Hey, you’re back--” she pauses. “Oh, who’s that?”

“I’m Walter, miss,” he answers quickly. He watches her look down at where Woby sits by his feet, having scampered in through the gate after them. “And that’s Woby.” 

She scoffs, looking back up and waving him off. “First off, don’t do all that ‘miss’ nonsense. I’m Willow.” She sticks out her hand. Her fingers are covered in soot, and there’s dirt under her fingernails. Walter shakes it, deciding that he likes her already. 

“I found him in the forest,” Wendy pipes up, relatching the gate and circling around to the other side of the camp where there are several wooden boxes lined up and digging through one, clearly at home here. He thinks her statement isn’t entirely accurate; he's the one who found _her_ after all, but he doesn't correct her. 

Willow turns to him. “Yeah? How long have you been here?”

“A few days,” Walter admits. “I got a bit lost in the woods, I guess.”

Meanwhile, Wendy had finished whatever she was doing and was sitting comfortably by the fire. “Abigail will be joining us shortly,” she announces. Willow pats her on the shoulder before moving to a shambled bit of metal that resembles a minifridge against one wall of the camp. 

“Good to hear. Hey Walter, let me show you around camp a bit.” 

There’s a strange machine cobbled together a bit away from the firepit, and it spins and makes noise as they get close to it. Willow tells him it helps them make things, although they don’t entirely understand how. There’s also the chests, which he saw upon walking in, the fridge, a cooking pot, and a fairly well-made tent, which Walter spends some time inspecting. 

It’s not a very long tour. Woby gets preoccupied weaving around the structures and sniffing every corner of the base. They’ve got more of that weird purple meat which she likes, and Willow lets Walter feed a bit to her as they wrap up. 

“There’s usually a few more of us here,” Willow says, noticing Walter looking at the straw sleeping bags stacked beside the tent. “But Wilson and Ms. Wicker went underground for a little while though, so I got stuck watching the kids.” She glances at him. “I mean, no offense.” 

Trying to make a good impression, he says, “Well, you don’t have to watch me. I’m very good at wilderness survival.”

She ruffles his hair. “You’re funny.”

Willow sets him free to make himself at home while she readies something for them to eat. Walter tells her he’s all set, but she just gives him a sad sort of smile at the smushed berries he pulls from the parcel on Woby’s back. 

“I think it’ll be better to use those for jam,” she says and gently takes them from his hands and moves over to the pot. 

Wendy is tending to the fire, her lamp-like eyes nearly glowing in its light. Walter sits next to her. “So, who’s Abigail?” he asks. 

“My sister. She isn’t here right now, but you’ll meet her soon.” 

“Sure,” Walter agrees. If she’s at all like Wendy, he thinks they’ll be able to get along. 

Willow lids the pot and Walter can hear it start to gurgle as it cooks. In the meantime, she moves to where he and Wendy are sitting. Woby hops into his lap, and he idly pets her as they wait. 

Willow plops down next to him, biting off half a piece of jerky and nudging him with her elbow. 

“ Y’know, I used to be in the scouts, too,” she says with her mouth full, eyeing his uniform. 

Walter’s eyes widen. “Oh, wow, really?”

“Yup!” she pops the p, grinning. “I got all the patches, too.” 

Walter gets almost starry-eyed at that. Willow starts rattling off some story about how she got her campfire safety patch, and he listens intently, decidedly affirming that Willow is one of the coolest people he's ever met. Even after Webber wanders back into camp well past sunset and Wendy dozes off in her straw roll by the fire, he finds himself jittery, the anticipatory excitement he always feels on camping trips. 

“...So then the _other_ girl’s hair caught fire, but since she was the one getting way too close they didn’t deduct any points for it,” Willow finishes. She pokes at the fire, which has begun to shrink, and starts feeding it twigs. “Well, anyhow, it’s late.” She points to the stacked sleeping rolls. “You can use one of those.” 

“Okay,” he says, not entirely wanting to sleep. Although he finds himself rather exhausted once he’s actually laid the roll out and laid down. 

It’s not the comfiest, and the straw pokes into his arms below his sleeves, but that’s just a part of camping. And as Walter drifts to sleep, with the campfire crackling comfortably just out of sight and Woby curled beside him, he thinks that this is going to be okay.

  
  
  


It’s day three of his stay in the eastern camp, as the group calls it. Him and Wendy have been tasked with braiding some of the group’s grass supply into rope while Willow’s out for the day. Walter’s a bit excited about it, if he’s being honest. He’s wanted to practice his knot tying for a while, and he quickly gets distracted doing so, tangling their newly formed rope into knot after knot. Wendy chastises him a bit, but her heart doesn’t seem into it, so Walter figures it’s okay. 

She’s standing up to go get another bundle of grass when Walter asks, “So, when’s this camping trip supposed to end?” He’s in the middle of doing a timber hitch around a stick, and he’s focused enough that he doesn’t see her wince when he asks. 

“What do you mean?” she asks like a leading question, sitting back down with the grass in her lap. Noticing her tone, Walter glances up. “Y’know, like when do we go home?” he clarifies. “Actually, come to think of it, you never told me how long you’ve been out here, either.” 

“About that,” Wendy murmurs, twisting a few grass strands together. “I don’t know. No one’s ever gone home.”

Walter blinks. “What?”

She shrugs, one hand finding the flower in her hair and fiddling with the petals. “To be honest, we still don’t know how to leave. Or if we even can.”

His newly tied timber hitch forgotten, Walter sits back, confused. “What do you mean? Like, we’re stuck out here?” 

“We are imprisoned,” she says bluntly. “And I no longer wish to talk about it.” 

Wendy won't speak after that, simply sitting and braiding rope in silence no matter what Walter says. So when Willow returns, carrying bundles of logs on her back, he figures he’ll ask her instead. 

He approaches her by the fire. “Willow--” he tries, but is cut off by her whoop of joy as she dumps a log into the smoldering fire, watching in delight as the flames rise. 

He’s always been told patience is a virtue, and Walter knows how to be patient. It’s how he learned birdwatching, and fishing, and foraging, and navigation, and he doesn’t want to toot his own horn or anything but he’s gotten pretty good at all those things. So he waits for Willow to be done before trying again. 

After a few more logs, the fire has risen so high it’s nearly as tall as he is, which Walter thinks is a little concerning, but Willow is the adult, and she doesn’t seem worried, so it’s probably okay. She turns around with a grin on her face, wiping charcoal dust off her palms. “Hey, Walter!” she greets. “What’s up?”

The glow of the fire makes her shadow stretch across the ground. He shifts a bit in the dirt. “I was just talking to Wendy about when it was that we would be going home..?”

Her grin falls. “Oh.” 

“It’s not true, right? That we’re stuck here?” He’s a bit desperate, which is unlike him, but a child’s bravery can only stretch so far. “I mean, you even have a boat. And there’s ocean right there, can’t we just sail back?” 

Willow grimaces. “It’s not that simple.” 

“Why not?”

She jerks her chin, indicating he should come closer and takes a seat, patting the ground to indicate Walter should sit next to her. He does. 

She looks uncomfortable, but determined. “I think Wilson does a better job of explaining it than I do, but…” she trails off, then sighs, and when she looks at him again, there’s this look in her eyes, something in the crossroads between anger and conviction, flickering in shadow from the fire. 

She speaks. “It started with a radio…” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walter learns a bit about the other people on the island. Meanwhile, the kids decide to amuse themselves the best way kids know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer than expected because parts of it just ended up not agreeing with me.  
> In good news, chapter 3 is halfway done, so expect another update soon!

They’re out gathering charcoal one day and Walter has a particular thought on his mind. 

By now, his stay on this island the others call “the Constant” has reached a whopping ten days, and in that time, he’s been doing his best to be of help around camp.

For instance, he’d been helping Webber tend to the farms. Walter didn’t mind the dirt and muck staining his clothes, and he’d gone on a field trip to a farm for school once, during which he’d been paying a lot of attention, so he was sure he could help. They’d packed seeds into the ground with manure and mud, and to Walter’s surprise, the crops grew alarmingly quickly. Webber seemed to enjoy the company as well, chatting away about the things he liked as they worked. Walter’s found out they both have a similar penchant for bugs. 

He’d been helping Wendy as well, and her biggest chore was tending to the rabbit traps spread amidst the plains. She showed him how to weave them and how to set them above the rabbits’ dens. That was where his help had ended, though. Walter tried to help her collect the traps at the end of the day, but he’d ended up feeling so bad for the rabbits that he’d ended up letting one go and Wendy said she’d handle it after that. 

Still, Walter wants to be as helpful as he can, which is why he’d volunteered to help Willow gather fuel without realizing what exactly that would entail until. And then, he was standing in front of a forest ablaze, eyes wide as he watched Willow clap excitedly until the burn died down. When he’d piped up about fire safety, she’d just waved him off and reassured that this was a “controlled burn.” Walter didn’t think that was true, but he bit back his objections.

Now, amidst the scorched trees, he watches Willow heft her axe over her shoulder and asks, “You said there were other people on the island, right?” She pauses, adjusting her angle. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. There are. What about it?” 

She swings the blade at the trunk of a freshly charred tree, and it crumbles under the force. Walter gets about, kneeling to gather the fallen pieces of charcoal and packing them away in his backpack. Woby, well-fed and in her large form, lies on her back in the sunlight just outside the forest. 

Walter fidgets, rubbing his soot-stained fingers together. “Can I meet them?”

Willow snorts. She’s leaned down now, helping gather the pieces as well, and she stuffs the last charred branch away and straightens up. “When they decide to show up to our base, then sure. I’m not supposed to let any of the kids wander around.” She approaches the next tree, and before she can even regain the grip on her axe, Walter zips around it, clasping his hands together and putting on his best pout. His mom always told him he could convince the moon to fall with that face. 

He’s not certain it’s going to be enough, but it does give Willow pause. “Stop using little kid powers on me, it isn’t gonna work.” 

Walter pouts further, blinking a few times to make it really dramatic. His eyes water a little bit.

Willow makes a show of not looking at him, but after she cracks down the tree and sees him still waiting expectantly, her resolve seems to falter. She sighs. “Listen, I can’t really take a break to give you a whole tour of everyone’s camps, but I can tell you about the rest of them at least.”

“That works!” Walter chirps. 

Her axe fells another tree. “So, I’ve mentioned Wilson before, right? He’s like, a scientist or whatever, which is just a codeword for ‘huge nerd’ if you ask me.” 

Walter personally finds science rather enjoyable, so he just gives a small hum at that. “What kind of science?”

She makes a vague hand gesture. “He’s never really specific about it, to be honest. But he’s sort of a doctor. Or, he used to be, I think. Before we got here. And he used to be really stuck-up about it, too, thinking he was all smarter than the rest of us.”

“But not anymore?”

“I mean…” she trails off. “I think it was mostly just him being defensive. When it comes down to it, he’s really sweet, even if he is an idiot sometimes.” She turns, moving towards the next blackened trunk, but not before Walter catches the half-smile on her face, a look that seems uncharacteristically soft for Willow. She clears her throat. “Anyway. Ms. Wickerbottom also stays at the eastern camp with the kids. She can be a bit strict, but she’s pretty nice. She’s kind of like everyone’s grandma. You’ll probably get along with her pretty well, spouting off facts the way you do.” 

They keep gathering, circling the edge of the forest line. In between felling trees, Willow’s counting off people on her fingers. “There’s Winona. She’s real spunky, and smart to boot. And there’s Mr. Wolfgang who comes off really intimidating, but he’s a sweetheart under all that muscle. He gives the best piggyback rides. And there’s Wigfrid--she can be a bit intense, but she isn't too bad. And--” 

“Hey, Willow?” Walter interrupts. He feels like he’s back home trying to memorize plant names, and he wishes he had a notepad. “Maybe I’ll remember them better if I actually meet them.” 

She laughs. “Sure.”

The sky grays out a bit by the time they finish hacking down trees and collecting the charcoal. The sight of incoming rain makes Willow anxious, and she gestures for them to begin the trek back to camp. The two of them walk side by side, Woby shuffling along quietly behind them. Walter shifts his hands up the backpack straps while they walk, getting a better hold on the heavy load. Despite intending to shelve the topic of the other people on the island, he can’t quite stop thinking about it. 

Cautiously, he asks, “So, how many people are here in total?” 

Willow hums in thought. “I think with you we’re up to a whole seventeen.” 

Seventeen people. It’s a bit difficult for Walter to comprehend. Not the number itself, mind you, but that so many people would have been lost here and had yet to find a way home. It’s worrying, although Walter doesn’t want to linger on it for too long. If he’s honest, the biggest concern he has is that this is going to make him get sick of camping. 

...He just hopes his mom isn’t worrying too much. 

  
  
  


After they return to camp and unpack the charcoal into the boxes by the fire, he notices Willow keep glancing fretfully at the clouded sky, and she juts her thumb towards the tent, saying that she’s going to take a nap before nightfall. 

Walter nods, of course, fully intending to stay in camp as well, although as afternoon sets in and the promise of rain is still unfulfilled, he finds himself growing bored. He sits by the smoldering ashes of the firepit, tossing a stick across the length of camp for a now-small Woby to fetch, although it looks like even she is getting tired of doing so. 

She drops the stick at his feet and whines, headbutting his arm when Walter reaches to throw it again. He lets the stick fall and scratches behind her ears. “You’re bored too, aren’t you,” he mumbles, and Woby barks in agreement. She darts away from him abruptly, pointing her nose towards the gate and running back and forth between it and where Walter is sitting. 

He perks up a bit. “You wanna go on a walk?” 

She barks. Walter stands, glancing back towards the tent, listening to Willow’s snores gently emanating from it, and then to the sky, weighing the risks. Then, he carefully unlatches the gate and slips out without looking back. 

Together, he and Woby meander through the plains a bit. The air here doesn’t smell like the air back home; it’s got a sense of danger on it, not to mention the heavy smell of monster blood that Walter hasn’t entirely grown accustomed to. Still, there is still the thrill of taking it all in. Nature is nature, and Walter has learned to appreciate that. He even has a badge for it. 

The tall straw-like grass begins to give way into forest, and he’s wandered back into the midst of the deciduous trees, where he first met Wendy. As autumn has gone on, more and more of the trees have gone bare, and with the clouded sky the forest has a much eerier atmosphere than usual. Woby sniffs out mushrooms for him to pick, particularly the spongy green ones that tend to sprout in the evening. 

He’s just crouched down behind a few bushes to dig up another one when he pauses, the sound of voices brushing by on the wind.

There are several. One of them is high, an echoey sort of trill that he recognizes as Wendy immediately. There’s also that haunting wispy sort of noise that Wendy’s sister Abigail always makes. She doesn’t speak with words the way Wendy does, and Wendy’s the only one who can understand her, but she’s a good translator. Walter thinks he and Abigail have become pretty good friends, even if he was a bit creeped out by her at first. 

Then, he hears a third voice, one that’s unfamiliar. Woby starts growling, a low, threatening rumble that doesn’t sound right coming from her small body. Walter shushes her, going still to try and hear what was going on. 

The unfamiliar voice is talking. It’s a deep, smooth cadence, and it makes Walter think of that old ragtime tune that had played on the radio that brought him here. 

“--struck with a bout of insomnia and was coming by for some assistance,” the voice says. 

“Out of nowhere?” Wendy asks. 

“I believe it has to do with that ridiculous robot screeching up a storm every night just over the river.”

Walter pushes aside the lower branches of the bush to get a better view. He sees Wendy, standing by a nearby pond with an older looking man in a sharp suit. Immediately, he’s a bit suspicious. The man is tall, and he all but towers over Wendy, leaning slightly down towards her as they talk. Walter feels Woby, still rumbling with a quiet growl beside him as he looks on. 

He watches Wendy shake her head. “I’m afraid Ms. Wickerbottom is currently absent from camp. Both she and Mr. Higgsbury embarked to the underground nearly a fortnight ago. Only Ms. Willow is there right now.”

The man scoffs. “They left you in the care of the firestarter? I wouldn’t trust that woman to look after a goldfish, much less a child.” 

“To be fair, uncle, it would be extremely difficult to burn a goldfish.” 

Walter looks to Woby, who cocks her head in what seems like an equal amount of confusion. _“Uncle”_?

The two conversing fall into a lull of silence. The man clears his throat. 

“...And you’re sure you won’t reconsider staying at my camp?” he asks. There’s a hesitation behind his words, an uncertainty that marrs his otherwise smooth, charismatic tone, roughening it around the edges. 

“I do not feel comfortable leaving the camp at this time,” Wendy says after a moment’s thought. “And, in fairness, I believe Ms. Willow to be a good caretaker. You needn’t worry.” 

The man coughs. “Right.” He glances backwards. “I’ll be on my way, then.” 

A peal of thunder rumbles across the sky, and Wendy murmurs, “May you stay well,” as the man leaves. She watches him leave with that odd sort of stillness of hers, like a statue in the forest. A few leaves fall, sticking in her hair, though she does not move until the man has entirely vanished from view. It’s only then that Walter makes a move. 

“Wendy!” he calls, shaking himself out of the bushes. “Who was that?” 

Wendy pauses, glancing to Abigail, then back at him. “You were eavesdropping,” she frowns. 

“Kinda,” Walter admits. “So who was that?” 

With some trepidation, she says, “That was our”--she indicates to herself and Abigail with a nod--”Uncle Maxwell. He camps by the rock fields.”

Woby barks, and Walter looks down to see that she’s glaring in the direction the man left, her hackles raised and tail angled in alert. He frowns. “Woby stop, that’s not nice.” 

Usually, a command like that would be enough to calm her, but she growls again, low and threatening, pawing at the ground like she’s about to run off after him. 

“Woby, what’s wrong with you?” Walter exclaims, swooping to pick her up before she has a chance to take off. The dog squirms in his arms, and he struggles to keep his hold on her, her back paws digging into his stomach as he tries to get her to still. 

“She probably senses Their presence in him” Wendy suggests, her head tilted sideways as she watches him grapple. 

He rests a hand on Woby’s head, scratching in the space between the bumps of her horns as her growls begin to taper off. “What do you mean?” 

One of her hands reaches for the flower clipped in her hair--a nervous habit. “I forgot that you don’t know.” Upon seeing her sister hesitate, Abigail floats closer, whispering in that airy, incomprehensible tone. It seems to help, because even as Wendy looks away, she keeps talking. 

“My uncle was the one who brought many of us here,” she explains. “And even while he has lost his crown of shadows, there are many who have continued to forego forgiveness.” 

“Oh,” Walter says. He doesn’t know how to respond. 

“Not all of us were condemned by his hand,” she says hurriedly. “You, for example. But my uncle has a hard time finding good favor with others. His time as king has tainted him with a terrible arrogance.” 

“He did seem kind of rude. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken.”

They keep walking. It’s awkward. Walter breaks the silence. “So, do you talk to him a lot?” 

Wendy hums. “As often as I must. Despite everything, he is still family. And he has been earnestly attempting to better himself, which I believe we all appreciate.”

Abigail makes a sound like steam rising off a lake, and Wendy nods in agreement. “Abigail makes a good point. We know that he cares about us.” 

It’s an offhand comment, but it sends a pang of jealousy through him. Wistfully and without thinking, Walter says, “It seems kind of nice. To have family with you.” It’s a more emotionally revealing statement than he wanted to make, and he’s a bit alarmed with himself for having said something like that. Wendy seems to take it in stride though, making a sort of sympathetic sound. 

“It is difficult,” she says, “to be forced to face a cruel world without a caring presence beside you.” Walter gets the feeling she isn’t talking about Maxwell anymore. Abigail murmurs sadly, hovering over Wendy’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. Quickly glancing around to verify that they’re alone, he puts a hand over his mouth and steps closer to her. “Don’t tell anyone, but… I think I’m getting a bit homesick.”

Solemnly, Wendy nods. “I shan’t speak a word of it to anyone.” 

According to the strange thermometer set up in the camp, winter is approaching, and Walter is sure starting to feel it. The forest has started going bare, the coating of leaves along the ground growing denser by the day. There’s a chill pervading the air, one that sends him shivering on early morning fishing trips and late-night firefly hunting. He, along with the other members of the camp, huddle closer to the fire at night. 

Wendy’s been making hats from the silk and fur they have, decorating them with different patterns and toppers. She’s steady with a needle, and Walter watches her thread the fabrics together in awe as they sit together. 

“Who’s that one for?” he points at the completed hat she has sitting atop the spool of silk beside her. 

“It’s for Webber.” She lifts it into the air, showing off the ear flaps. “So his extra legs don’t get cold.”

“It’s pretty.” The hat has been colored orange and red with boiled eggshells and berry juice. It’s an impressive feat of craftsmanship, and he wonders if Wendy will teach him how to sew like that, too. 

She turns it over. “Thank you. But I think I made it a bit too big.” 

“Let me try,” Walter says, reaching for it. The hat is soft, and he takes a moment to admire the texture before going to put it on. Before he gets a chance, however, Wendy interrupts. 

“That’s backwards.”

Walter stops, looking at the hat. “It is?” He turns it over. The other side looks exactly the same. “It’s kind of hard to tell,” he admits. 

Wendy shrugs. An idea suddenly dawns on him. 

“You know,” he starts, and Wendy must hear the mischief in his tone because she immediately frowns at him. “It would be kinda funny if he wore it backwards.”

Unconvinced, Wendy asks, “Would it?” 

“Yeah! My older cousins once convinced me that you can wear a skirt like a shirt, and they thought it was pretty funny, so I guess it must be funny to wear clothes wrong.” 

“Maybe.” She still sounds dubious. 

Walter stands up, gesturing for Webber to join them. “Here, give it to him,” he whispers to Wendy, shoving the hat back into her hands as Webber approaches. 

“What is it?” the boy asks, glancing back and forth from Walter to Wendy. His smaller eyes don’t quite synchronize with the movements of his larger ones, and Walter finds himself momentarily distracted by this. Luckily, Wendy takes charge, standing as well. She holds the hat out to him. 

“Here. Try this on,” she says. 

“Oh, you finished our hat!” Webber exclaims. He grins as he takes it, taking a moment just as Walter did to marvel at the softness, before placing it over his head. Wendy’s initial assessment that the hat was too big was immediately obvious, and coupled with having put it on the wrong way, the hat leaves Webber with just a bit of his furry head showing. The front lip falls all the way down past where his nose would be, and his mouth is just barely visible underneath, open in alarm. 

“It covers our eyes!” Webber says loudly, as if to make up for his lack of sight. 

Walter giggles, trying vainly to stifle it with a hand, and Wendy shushes him. “It’s the intended design, Webber. And you have to wear it because I made it for you.” 

They both know Webber will be too polite to object to that. His mouth abruptly shuts, hiding his fangs, and Walter thinks he sees the boy swallow, as if steeling his nerves. His stance straightens, like he’s fully committing to spending the entire winter blinded. “We will wear it then!” he declares, turning and almost immediately running headfirst into the camp’s outer stone wall. With a startled cry, he backs up, and Walter just barely manages to grab hold of his shoulder before he trips and falls backwards. 

“Thank you,” Webber says as he regains his balance. “This hat is scary!” 

Wendy laughs. It escapes her like a puff of smoke, a small, flightless thing that could be mistaken as nothing more than a breath come too fast. But Walter can tell what it is, and he looks to her in surprise for a moment before a grin spreads across his face. 

He thinks Webber can tell what it is too, because Walter sees him lift the hem of the hat, and even though he’s not very good at discerning spider expressions, to him, Webber looks incredibly pleased. 

“That was amusing,” Wendy says after they’ve gotten the hat off Webber and tucked away in Wendy’s bag for further tailoring. “I will admit that despite your naivety, you have good ideas, Walter.” 

It’s a bit of a backhanded compliment, but Walter doesn’t take it personally. “Thanks. You’re a lot better at holding it together when it comes to pranks, though.” 

She nods. “That is true. Does that mean you would be opposed to orchestrating a second one?” 

He grins. “Not at all.”

They get Webber to help with their next one. Willow’s used to him spending nights by the spider dens along the forest, so it’s not suspicious if he doesn’t show up by nightfall. 

Woby whines, shaking her shaggy head as Webber gets close, and Walter does his best to hold onto her collar and keep her from bucking him away and scampering off. “It’s okay girl, he’s nice, trust me,” Walter soothes, petting her big floppy ears as Webber struggles to mount her. 

He gets it eventually, holding on tight to the fur on the back of Woby’s neck, and Walter takes her head between his hands and speaks very sternly. “Be nice to Webber, and listen to him, okay? We’re doing a prank on Willow, and you’ve gotta be good for it.” Woby woofs, which doesn’t really sound like agreement, but she seems to quickly give in, licking his face affectionately when Walter pouts at her. He grins. “There’s a good girl.” 

He rejoins Wendy by the outer camp wall, where she’d been watching. 

“It is impressive how well you have tamed such a great beast,” she says.

He shrugs. “Woby’s not much of a beast. She’s scared of butterflies.” 

“I see.”

Nightfall finds both of them back in camp with Willow, watching as she rummages through the fridge for something to put together into a half-decent meal. Wendy looks over to him and gives him a nudge, indicating that they should start.

“I have a story!” Walter announces loudly, planting himself cross-legged by the fire. That does enough to gather attention. Willow likes to pretend she isn’t all that interested in his stories, but oftentimes she’s the one sitting most on edge, her chin resting on her hands as she listens with wide eyes and held breath for him to finish. 

Now is no exception. She lingers at the crockpot for a moment while Wendy joins him by the fire, although sky quickly abandons the meatballs she’d been preparing in favor of listening to the story. Walter clears his throat, glancing out beyond the walls. There’s a small gleam of light out there, a torch, where Webber and Woby are waiting for their cue. 

“So there’s this monster out in the woods,” he begins, putting his hands up. He’d practiced for this one, no messing up or scrambling his words. It has to be good. He takes a breath to steady himself.

“They say it’s huge, almost three meters tall, with long shaggy fur that drags behind it, getting all dirty with mud and leaves, and long scary claws. The people who see it say it looks like a piece of the forest itself.” He thinks that was pretty good, but Willow doesn’t look impressed yet. He goes off script, amping it up. “A-And it’s super venomous too, with acid breath and big sharp teeth!” He claws his hands in front of his face, imitating fangs. “It goes around hunting people who wander too far into the woods. Sometimes, people’ll see lights shining through the trees without knowing that they’re just the monster’s shiny eyes.” 

The fire pops, sparks flying as if to emphasize his words. Willow seems pretty enraptured now, head tilted slightly as her eyes flick between the flames and Walter’s gestures.

“What else?” Wendy prompts, just as they’d planned. 

For the briefest moment, the script slips from his mind, and Walter stumbles. “Huh? Oh, yeah, so--” he clears his throat again. “It uh…”

“They say…” Wendy whispers.

“Right! They say it roams out there, stalking unsuspecting campers...” he turns and finds that speck of light with his eyes again, raising his voice for the final line. “...Waiting for a chance to _strike!”_

With a resonant howl, Woby leaps over the southern wall of the camp. Webber, with his hands wrapped around her neck, holds on for dear life. She doesn’t quite nail the landing, scrambling to slow down on the dirt and slamming sideways into the alchemy engine, nearly knocking it over. 

Walter giddily looks to see Willow's expression, but quickly finds himself pushed backwards, scraping his knees in the dirt, with Wendy toppled over and looking equally confused beside him. He winces, assessing the rough scratches of grit on his skin. Once he’s confirmed he’s not bleeding, he glances forward. 

There is a towering dark shape before him, backlit by the glow of the fire, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s Willow, her spear readied and sharp in her grasp. She’d shoved them behind her almost immediately, widening her stance and placing herself firmly between them and Woby. 

Walter uprights himself, reaching out hesitantly for her sleeve. “Willow--” 

Her head snaps down to him, and he flinches backwards. There’s nothing but ferocity and aggression in her eyes, although it slowly fades as she takes note of Woby skittering away from her spearpoint nervously, and Webber sliding clumsily off her back, landing with an ‘oof’. 

After another few moments of taking in the scene, her stance drops. “Okay,” she says finally, sinking her spearpoint into the dirt and turning to glower at each of the children in turn. “I don’t know what you all were thinking, but that was really dumb. Like, actually really dumb.”

“It was my idea,” Wendy pipes up, brushing dirt off her skirt as she stands up. “I asked Walter--”

“No, you just said you wanted to do a prank,” he argues. It doesn’t feel fair for her to try and take blame. He faces Willow, hands folded behind his back. “It was _my_ idea.” 

“...We just thought it would be fun, Ms. Willow,” Webber says sheepishly, wringing his hands as he edges forward.

“Yeah? Well I could’ve stabbed you. Bet that would’ve been _real_ fun,” she snaps. 

Webber’s eyes start welling. Seeing this, Water steps forward. “I asked him to do it. It’s my fault.” 

Her sharp gaze turns to him and Walter stiffens, looking down and feeling very much in trouble. Still, he can’t let his friends take the heat for him. He’s got honor, after all. 

“I know you don’t know yet, but things bursting into our camp and attacking us isn’t really something we can joke about,” Willow lectures, her tone like an edge of broken glass. “Putting one of you in the position of some monster? That’s really, really dumb.” 

Walter keeps examining his shoes, his hands tightening around each other behind his back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. 

Something in Willow seems to soften at that. She sighs, patting him on the shoulder. “Just. Don’t pull that sh-- stuff again.” She grimaces. “I have a headache. See you in the morning.” With that, she disappears into the tent.

Webber still looks on the verge of tears, and Walter murmurs an apology to him as well. Through it all, Wendy still looks nothing more than apathetic. She glances to the tent, then nods, as if to herself. 

“To be fair,” she says. “Conceptually, it was very amusing.” 

Walter sniffs, brightening at that. “Yeah?”

The tiniest of smiles graces her lips. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first prank inspiration comes from my friend who plays Wendy and who has a bunch of winter hat skins. Whenever he gives one to our friend who plays Webber he always jokes about how the hats cover Webber’s eyes.  
> The second prank inspiration comes from whenever I ride into camp on Woby while it’s dark and cause general panic by doing so.
> 
> Might go back and do some minor edits later, I kinda churned out the last portion quicker than expected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow learns what Walter's afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this could partially count as whump, but mostly it's just shameless hurt/comfort.  
> Warning for some medical/wound imagery in this chapter.  
> I also upped the rating to teen for violence and some use of language. Getting in some Willow POV here

It’s nearly sunset when the barking starts. 

It begins quietly, as usual. A low rumbling, the mesh of growls upon growls that could almost be mistaken for the sound of the wind rolling over the hills. This time, Webber is the one who hears it first. He’s playing cup-and-ball by the firepit when he freezes suddenly, head lifting in alarm and announcing, “Doggies!”

Within the breath it takes for the warning to register, Willow abandons the strips of meat she’d been hanging on their drying racks, rushing to scoop her spear off the ground and gesturing for the kids to follow her out of camp. Wendy takes a few extra minutes to collect Walter, urging him to hurry. By the time Willow latches the gate shut behind them, Webber’s already started a beeline for the forest where the spider nests sit, dragging an axe in the dirt behind him. Wendy speaks softly to her flower, and after a moment, Abigail bursts out of it, glowing and angry, huddling close to her sister. Willow trusts the two of them will be safe. 

Meanwhile, Walter keeps glancing around at all of them, looking confused. 

“There are dogs?” he says, carrying a half-asleep Woby in his arms. It makes Willow’s heart ache, just how hopeful his tone is. She’d thought that, upon being here this long, he’d have figured out that there weren’t many things on this wretched island that were friendly. 

“These aren’t good dogs,” she warns, taking his arm and leading them away from the camp and towards where the beefalo herds roamed the plains. Walter treads quietly, and she wishes he would move a bit faster. 

“All dogs can be good,” he says plainly, like there’s no room for debate. “Maybe Woby can make friends with them.” Willow doesn’t give a reply to that, lacking the heart to argue. She wishes she could have even a fraction of his optimism. 

The sun is just a sliver of light above the horizon, and Willow flicks her lighter on anxiously, in anticipation of night. Walter has set Woby down, and she’s threading between his legs, looking worried enough for the both of them. Willow puts a firm hand on Walter’s shoulder. “Listen,” she tells him. “Get a torch ready. Mostly, this’ll come down to avoiding them for as long as you can.” She points to the beefalo. “The dogs love a slow target, so after a while, they’ll get tired of chasing you and go after them instead. Got it?” 

Walter nods tersely, still frowning. “Sure… But what do I do while they’re still after me?”

“You’ve got that slingshot on you, right?” 

He nods again. It’s tucked away in his back pocket, along with several rounds. 

“Shoot ‘em.”

They don’t get much more preparation time than that. Walter readies his slingshot, biting his lip dubiously. The barking is so loud now, Willow knows that any moment the pack will crest the hill, or burst from the grass, teeth bared. 

She isn’t let down.  The first hound springs from behind a tuft of grass like it’d simply materialized there, scrambling along the plains with splittle flying from its opened chops as it lunges towards them. Walter starts moving immediately, backing up and taking aim with his slingshot. Willow sees him get a shot into the first hound’s side before the rest of the pack rise to join it. 

The first of the hounds reaches them, it’s jaws snapping shut where her arm had been just a moment ago. Willow slashes forward, grazing the tip of the spear along the beast’s face and neck. It loses its balance in the grass, but regains it quickly, snarling as it prepares for another lunge. 

Just as it leaps, she stabs the spearpoint into its side, tearing it open and spraying thick, purple blood onto the grass. It attempts another snap at her before it dies, missing sloppily and collapsing. Unfortunately, another one quickly replaces it. She dodges the second hound’s teeth, keeping a distant eye on Walter sprinting around with a torch outstretched as another hound bites at his heels, Woby nowhere to be seen. 

She isn’t given much time to divert her attention, as the hound bites at her again, and she just barely manages to avoid it, the yellowed fangs tearing into her sleeve instead of her arm. She swings the rod of the spear into its skull like a baseball bat, then jabs the spearpoint into it, kicking it away when it attempts to jump back up and knock her down. Somewhere behind her, she hears Walter yelp, and her heart sinks. With another good thrust, the hound falls, and she whips her head around, surveying the scene. 

The rest of the pack had lost attention in them and had decided to try and attack the herd before being swiftly taken out. She sees the dogs’ bodies, bludgeoned and torn apart by horns, laying across the field. There isn’t time to scavenge, though. 

Just then, a familiar high-pitched whine pierces the relative quiet, and it makes Willow’s blood freeze. Before she knows it, she’s squinting through the air, spinning around to pinpoint the source of the sound because that’s Woby’s whine, and something’s wrong because the dog sounds absolutely  _ terrified.  _

She sees it then, a pinprick of light in the dark, and she sprints towards it, her heartbeat like thunder in her ears. 

The light is from a fallen torch, smoldering quietly on the grass, and when Willow emerges from the shadows, she finds Walter sat on the ground beside it, his slingshot discarded and forgotten at his side, and Woby nearly howling in worry. 

Immediately, Willow notices that he’s bleeding, and it barely takes a beat for her brain to switch to emergency mode. There’s a set of puncture wounds in his leg, just above his ankle, where a hound’s teeth had sunken in. He’s put his hands over the wound on instinct, pressing down and biting his lip from the pain. Willow quickly kneels, setting her lighter to the side and pulling his hands away. 

She hisses air in through her teeth, unable to keep herself from muttering, “Shit,” as she gets a better look. It’s not the worst she’s seen, not by a longshot, but she does notice a spot of white in one of the marks where a fang had snapped off and stayed embedded in the flesh. Walter’s breathing is shallow, rapid and unnatural, and Willow moves to his side, trying to block his view of the wound while she checks him over. 

“Hey,” she says, trying to get his attention. “You’re okay. You’re good. We’ll get back to camp and get this wrapped up and you’ll be all set, alright?” It’s hard to see under the blood, but the bite doesn’t look too deep, and the bleeding is sluggish, so she doesn’t think he’s in any immediate danger. She presses around the edges of the wound, feeling for fractures, but he seems to be fine on that front as well. Still, they’re going to need to disinfect it, and it’s sure to take a few days to heal. She silently scolds herself for letting this happen in the first place. She’s supposed to be looking after these kids for fuck’s sake. 

She glances back up, ready to help him stand, and falters. Walter’s face has gone totally ashen, and he’s staring down at the blood on his hands like it’s the only thing he can see. His breathing is harsh, tears welling in his eyes. She thinks she can see his hands shaking. 

He doesn’t move, even as she nudges him, and Woby keeps yapping and whining like crazy, pawing at his side and licking his face, but he’s barely responding to it. The look on his face makes her worry more than the bite does. It’s this blank, terrified expression that seems so foreign on him. 

It makes her remember that, despite all he’s said, despite all the courage he’s shown, he’s still just a kid. Amidst everything, she’d somewhat forgotten that. 

“Come on kid, you’re gonna be fine,” she murmurs, reaching for his shoulder. Although then, she hears something, and it gives her pause in the midst of the action, her head whipping back to the surrounding shadows. 

From somewhere beyond the torch glow, a low snarl emits, a warning that the danger has not yet passed. Willow stands abruptly, grabbing her lighter and thrusting it out in front of her, trying to get a better view in the dark. The snarl comes again, louder this time. Another hound, still alive, stalking them. 

Woby, noticing the still-present danger, whimpers and presses against Willow’s ankle. Willow glances down at the injured and unresponsive boy on the grass and realizes there’s only one thing she can do. 

Hurriedly, she scoops Walter up, trying to avoid jostling his injured leg, and starts sprinting back across the field towards camp, hearing the hound’s barks fade behind her as it finds a less mobile target in the beefalo. 

She’s got her lighter out, trying her best to avoid holding it too close to Walter’s face. He’s not fireproof like she is. Woby is racing somewhere in the dark alongside them, barking intermittently as if to alert her presence. As they’re running, Walter’s laying with his eyes squeezed shut, face tightened in a grimace. Willow just barely hears him say something over the roar of her pulse. 

“What?” she asks. 

“...tried to hit it,” he mumbles, and she glances down to find his eyes are cracked just barely open, looking vacantly up at her. “But it was too fast.”

“It’s okay, you did good,” Willow reassures, trying to move faster. Her calves ache, but she figures it might be good to get in a decent panicked run from time to time. It keeps her from getting too complacent. 

By the time they reach camp, Webber and Wendy are already back, speaking quietly to each other by the unlatched gate. They both startle as Willow kicks it open, but she doesn’t give either a chance to say anything. 

“Sorry we’re late!” she announces, shifting Walter in her arms. She brushes past the two children, avoiding their concerned stares as she ducks into the tent. 

It’s warm and stuffy inside, especially compared to the chill late-autumn air, but Walter’s still shivering even as she carries him in. She lets the flap fall closed behind her, but Woby keeps pawing at it, barking anxiously. Willow barely has a moment to set Walter down among the wool blankets before letting the dog in. 

Huddled there amongst the wools, Woby nosing up against his side, Walter looks incredibly small. She hadn’t realized how much of his presence relied on his boisterous personality and loud, confident voice. Seeing him like this, so quiet and still, it feels indescribably wrong. 

Willow shakes her head. It wasn’t the time to ruminate. She digs out their box of medical supplies before turning her attention back to Walter. Although, when she does, she notices that his gaze seems to be fixated on something just over her shoulder. When Willow looks, she can’t see anything there. 

Kneeling to his side, she taps his cheek with her palm, trying to get his attention. With difficulty, his eyes slide to meet hers, and she forces a small smile. “That’s it, kid. Don’t pay those things any mind, okay? It doesn’t help.”

A good night’s sleep would shake Them out of his sight, but for now, there’s a hound bite to deal with. 

She opens the medical kit. Usually, in cases of precision treatment, Wilson would be the one to take over. He’s got a steadier hand than most of them, and experience on top of that, which made him the perfect candidate for it. But right now, he’s not here. It’s just Willow, staring down at their small homemade surgical kit, and a kid with a tooth stuck in his leg lying beside her. So she’s going to have to step up to the plate. 

Walter’s still kind of out of it, but Woby seems to be doing her best to help in that department, licking his face and resting her paws over his chest. Her presence seems to help; Walter buries his fingers into her fur in long, slow pets. 

They have several spider glands cleaned and stored for these sorts of occasions. Willow rips one of them open, wiping her hands clean before wetting a strip of fabric with the juice. The harsh smell of the antiseptic wafts, filling the tent, and she wrinkles her nose as it. Gently, she cleans around the wound, wiping away the blood and clearing the area around the tooth before putting the rag aside and taking the tweezers in hand. 

She grips the base of the tooth with the tweezers, just below where it’s widest. The fang is jagged along one side, she knows, serrated enough to cause an uneven, messy cut, and that thought alone makes her wince at the prospect of removing it. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Faintly, she feels the urge to set something on fire. 

“This’ll hurt a bit,” she warns, bracing Walter’s leg with one hand in case he flinches. 

He’s lucid enough to brace as well, his eyes shutting tight as he tenses. 

Willow shifts the tooth, angling it against the smoother side and beginning to draw it out. She doesn’t get very far though, because he sucks in an upset breath and yelps, “Stop!” 

Willow does. She hesitates, watching his face twist in a frantic attempt to keep from sobbing. “I’m sorry, I know, but it has to come out,” she tries to soothe, moving her free hand to his arm. “You just gotta hold on a little bit. I’ll be quick about it.” 

He turns his head to the side, breathing raggedly, and Willow thinks she’s not meant to see it, but a few tears slip down over his nose. After a few more squeaky inhales, he nods. “Okay,” he says shakily, the word small. “Do it.” 

Returning to the tweezers, Willow holds her breath, angles the tooth, and pulls. It comes out in one clean piece, and she immediately sets it to the side and presses a rag against the wound to soak up the blood. She sees Walter’s fists clench around the blankets, but he does not make a sound. 

She’s not sure if the wound needs to be stitched, but she doesn’t quite trust herself to do it, either way. Keeping pressure on the wound, she rummages through the box for the supplies for a healing salve. 

She preps the salve one-handed, gathering a bowl and shaking a handful of their stored ash into it. With her nails, she tears open another gland and starts squeezing the fluid out into the bowl. As the juice soaks into the ashes, she sits back, looking over her handiwork as she tries to think about how she’s going to explain this whole situation to Wickerbottom. Willow can imagine the conversation. 

_ “Hey, remember how I was supposed to make sure the kids stayed safe? Well, while you were gone, another one showed up and got hurt. Crazy, right?” _

Somehow, she doesn’t see any explanation that would end in her favor. Either way, she doesn’t get much time before that train of thought falls away, because as she starts applying the salve to the wound, Walter whimpers. He straight up fucking  _ whimpers  _ and the sound might as well have broken Willow’s heart then and there. 

In a rare show of bravery, Woby starts growling, clearly on the basis of some protective instinct. She nips at Willow’s arm, whose reflexes just barely let her pull away fast enough to avoid getting bitten. “Hey!” 

Walter clumsily reaches for the dog, grabbing her around the middle and holding her close to his chest. “Be nice,” he mumbles, pressing his face into Woby’s thick fur. “Willow’s helping me.” 

Willow continues as the dog calms down, holding steady even when Walter flinches at the spread of the salve. “I know it stings,” she says sympathetically. “Bear with me for just a few more seconds.” 

She scrapes the bowl out, and when the bite is completely slathered with salve, she uses their silk bandages to wrap it, hiding the marks from view. There are a few red spots darkening the wrap from where he’s bled through, but she ties the knot off and sits back on her heels. “There,” she says. “You’re done.” 

After a glance over, she notices with relief that Walter looks significantly better. The color has come back to his face, and that dazed sort of look in his eyes has all but vanished. He still looks absolutely exhausted, though. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and some of the tension leaves his body as he sinks farther into the wools. 

Willow smiles softly. 

She sits with him the few minutes it takes for him to fall asleep, setting away the medical kit and clearing away the used rags in the meantime. Willow sighs, readying herself to leave, but somehow being unable to. 

It just feels unfair to see Walter like this, lying there, hurt and afraid and ever so young. She’d seen so much of herself in him, but, in truth, he wasn’t like her at all. He wasn’t some orphan with no prospects, barely scraping by on the streets. He had a home to get back to, a family he spoke fondly of, years of life he had yet to experience. And while the Constant may have been the best thing that could have happened to Willow, it had stolen away Walter’s entire life. 

The world was truly, unimaginably cruel, she decides, to have brought this boy here. 

Woby’s head perks up from where she’s curled by Walter’s side, seemingly having sensed Willow’s distress. She pads over, pressing her head against Willow’s hand, and Willow relents, petting the dog gently. She scratches behind Woby’s ears and is rewarded with a lick on the nose when she leans down. Somehow, despite the awful night they’ve all had, it’s enough to make Willow smile. 

She leaves the tent eventually. Webber and Wendy say they’ll keep a night watch, and Willow feels too tired to argue. She falls into a fitful sleep by the firepit, curled around the rocks, letting the warmth bleed into her body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting up my initial outline for this chapter into two separate chapters, which is why this one and the next are a little shorter than the previous chapters. The next one should pick up right where this one left off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of missed parties return to camp, and Willow and Walter talk about bravery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter is a second part to the previous one, it ended up a bit shorter. Got some emotional beats in there though! Next chapter should be back to standard length.

When the dawn light peeks over the wall of the camp, casting long shadows over the dew-moist grass, Willow is awoken by the patter of footsteps and the trill of voices accompanying them. 

Before she even gets a chance to open her eyes, someone is shaking her. She blinks them open to meet eight more above her, set in a fuzzy dark face. 

“They’re back!” Webber just about shouts in her ear. Willow winces, squinting and sitting up slowly with a yawn. She stretches her arms above her head, blearily watching as the camp gate opens, letting in a very chipper looking Wilson with Ms. Wickerbottom following behind him. 

They’re both carrying backpacks and looking somewhat encumbered by the weight. Wilson slides his off next to the alchemy engine, and it lands with a heavy thud. He groans, rubbing his shoulder, but overall he looks rather pleased. 

“We’re back,” he says, looking to Willow. 

She crosses her arms. “I’ve noticed.” She stands, hurrying to help Wickerbottom with her backpack. “What took you all so long?”

“The underground is not so easy to traverse, dear,” the older woman answers for the two of them, placatingly. “We may have underestimated our travel time.” Wilson, occupied with unpacking their spoils, does not give a reply. 

After setting Wickerbottom’s pack on the ground beside him, Willow says, “You just missed the hounds.” It’s an effort to get his attention. Wilson just nods, clearly distracted. “I see.” 

She purses her lips in frustration, and she’s just opened her mouth to make a remark about seeing where his priorities lay when she’s interrupted. Wickerbottom, clearly sensing the tension, quickly asks, “How are the children?”

Oh, right. Willow straightens her back and gives a thumbs up. “All good, Ms. Wicker! I told you I was responsible. Although, there is something--”

“Willow?” Walter’s voice is soft as he interrupts, and she turns to see him just barely peeking out from the tent. Wickerbottom gives a small gasp upon seeing him, her eyes widening behind her glasses. 

“Oh, goodness. Who is this young man?”

“I’m Walter, ma’am,” he answers before Willow can get a word in. She hurries to explain. 

“He got here a few days after you two left. He’s, uh.. new.”

Walter takes a hesitant step out of the tent, and Willow internally groans, knowing that the first thing the older woman’s sharp eyes are going to see is the bandage around his leg. 

Sure enough, Wickerbottom gets right to the point. She points to the bandages. “What happened there, dear?”

“He got a little nip during the hound attack, but I fixed him all up,” Willow assures. Although it doesn’t do her much but get her a disbelieving look from Wickerbottom. It’s not the first time anyone’s been disappointed in her, but it still stings a bit. 

“I’ll take a look at it,” the librarian decides, stepping forward and patting Walter’s shoulder to push him back towards the tent. 

“It’s really okay. I’m fine, ma’am,” Walter insists, although it’s not enough to keep Wickerbottom from ushering him away, insisting on taking a proper look. Willow doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured that she’s going to check her handiwork. 

She feels a touch at her side and glances down to see Webber shyly pulling on the hem of her sweater. “We think you did a very good job watching us, Ms. Willow!” Webber beams. He’s so cheerful, Willow can’t help but smile, even if she doesn’t necessarily think she did a very good job at all. 

“Thanks,” she says, patting him on the head. “Hey, go find Wendy and let her know they’re back, okay?” 

“Okay!” He chirps, practically skipping out of the camp. Willow waits until she’s deemed him out of earshot before turning to where Wilson is still knelt by the machine. 

She anchors her hands on her hips. “So, how was the trip?”

The man wipes at his forehead with the back of his forearm, clearing some of the cave dust still clinging to his skin. “It wasn’t easy,” he says, and Willow believes it. He’s got several cuts on his face, one of which is still oozing blood, as well as bandages peeking out from under his sleeve and at his collarbone. It could have been worse though, she knows. At least he wasn’t coming home a ghost. 

Hesitantly, she says, “I was worried about you, y’know.”

Wilson blinks, cocking his head to one side, looking almost baffled when he turns to face her. “Really?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, really.” She flicks his forehead, causing him to sputter and bat at her hand to get her away. “You’re such a nerd,” she teases.

“I’ve been told,” he deadpans. He glances over at the tent. “So. A new arrival, huh?” 

“Yup,” Willow pops the word, plopping on the ground beside him. “Y’know, he’s kind of a nerd too. I think you’ll get along.” 

He sighs at that, but Willow knows it’s more amused than annoyed. “All the same, I think it would be better if we could have never met.” He looks back to the bag in front of him. “It never feels good to see more children here.” 

Willow shuffles closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Especially not when you nearly get them killed.”

“Is that bitterness I’m hearing?” 

She shrugs, somewhat dismissively. “I dunno. I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention to him during the hound attack, and that’s why he got hurt. And it feels sucky.”

Wilson hums. “Well, it could have been worse, couldn’t it?”

She snorts. “That’s not the point.”

“Well if you’re feeling bad, maybe you should talk to him about it.” He nudges her off his shoulder. “Go on. I’m busy.”

“No you’re not,” Willow argues, nudging him back. 

“I’m about to be.” He draws out a shimmering green gem from the pack. “We discovered several of these while underground, and their properties aren’t like any gem I’ve seen before. I have a few ideas for experiments--”

Willow shoves herself off him. “Okay I get it, I’m going! You don’t have to kill me with your boring science stuff.” Wilson smiles innocently at her as she stands, and she sticks her tongue out at him before leaving him to it. 

She meanders out of the gates, starting down the fields and towards the edge of the island. There’s a makeshift dock by the shoreline, with short walls built around it, protecting where the boat is anchored. It’s one of Wilson’s pet projects, something he’s been busying himself with constructing lately. Willow finds herself there soon, and she hops atop one of the walls and sits down. She watches the gentle waves lap at the pebbles of the shore. 

As much as she’s gotten used to being around the others, she misses having time to herself. Over the years, she’d learned to treasure solitude. It was something she’d gotten so little of during the time she spent in the orphanage, and her independence had shaped her, had made her strong. 

But mostly, she just wants some space to feel bad without anyone bothering her about it. Because when she closes her eyes she keeps thinking about the sight of Walter on the ground, clutching at his bloodied leg, and she can’t shake the feeling that it’s definitely her fault. Shaking her head to try and clear the images, she draws a few bits of grass from her pockets and lights them, watching the blades shrivel and blacken, streams of smoke rising into the air. It’s calming. She breathes in the smell of the fire and tries to think of anything else.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get much of a chance to do so. 

There’s the faint sound of someone calling her name, getting steadily louder. Willow perks at the sound of it, crushing the still-smoking tufts into ash in her palm before twisting around to see. It’s Walter, shuffling down the hillside to meet her by the dock. He skids across the wet grass, grabbing onto the wall for balance. She notices that Woby is noticeably absent from his side, probably napping back at camp.

“Hi,” he raises one hand to wave. “Mr. Wilson said you might be here.” 

“Hi Walter,” Willow greets, moving to allow space for him to sit beside her on the wall. He quickly hops up to join her. “How’s that bite feeling?” 

“I’m a lot better!” He kicks his legs, holding up the bandaged one for a moment before letting it fall again. “Ms. Wickerbottom said you did a good job. She just changed the bandages and put more of that pink stuff on it.” 

Willow smiles. “Good to hear.” 

She’s glad to see that he’s returned to his usual self. Whatever that side of him was that she’d seen in the tent last night, hollowed out and afraid and so very quiet, it was gone now. And she was more than excited to bid it farewell. Walter was best when he was loud and brash and, above it all, unapologetically a  _ kid.  _ And Willow’s beginning to realize she’ll do a lot to protect his right to be so. 

“You know,” Walter’s voice peters out, breaking into her thoughts. It’s sort of subdued and it immediately sparks her concern. She looks over to him questioningly, although he doesn’t hold her gaze, looking away in a manner that seems almost shy. “I was actually really scared last night. I know it’s kind of dumb, but…even with just that little bite, I felt like I was about to die.” 

“Walter...” she starts, trailing off. She doesn’t know what to say. 

“But then,” he continues, “I tried to think of all the things you told me about. All your cool stories about the stuff you did when you were my age. And I knew I had to be brave. Like you are.” Here, he faces her fully, and Willow is startled by the sheer admiration in his eyes. It almost makes her feel sick. Her hands tighten into fists on her knees. 

“You’re braver than I am, Walter,” she admits. 

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

One of her hands shakily finds her lighter, and she clicks it a few times, feeling the warmth burst under her fingers. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve a kid like Walter looking up to her. Not after letting him get hurt and pretending like they’re similar and  _ lying  _ to him. Her stomach twists as she tries to think of what to say next. 

Her mouth feels dry, and she swallows to clear the feeling. “I mean...you really faced your fears last night. And you’re always so goddamn hopeful and bright and…” she sighs, wanting nothing more than to throw her lit lighter to the ground and be swallowed by the flames. “I’m not any of those things. All I ever do is run.”

It hurts to see the confusion on his face, and he looks like he’s going to say something else. Willow doesn’t let him. Because she has to make him understand, because she feels aflame with guilt, and she’s not the type of person he thinks she is. She’s just not. 

“I lied to you!” she nearly shouts, her voice strangled. She has to make him understand. “I lied about all those stories, about being in the scouts, about being--” she breaks off with a ragged breath.  _ “Brave.”  _ Unable to keep his gaze, she squeezes her eyes shut and turns away. “I’ve lied about so much, Walter, and it’s because I’m scared. I’m scared of people knowing that I’m not really cool or courageous or honorable or any of those things you’re supposed to be.”

She laughs, and it comes out like a sob. “I just didn’t want to tell you the truth. That all I really was is some punk kid off the streets they felt too bad to say no to.” 

Some part of her is unsure of why she’s even admitting all this, but at the same time, she feels like he deserves to know. Because he’s not like the other survivors, jaded or judgy or apathetic. He’s  _ Walter.  _ He’s a kid who reminds her so greatly of herself that it hurts, even now. And he’s placed his trust in her, whether she wants it or not. 

She waits for him to get angry. To cry, maybe, all hurt and betrayed. Or maybe even to just get up and leave at how she’s shattered the trust between them. But several moments pass and it doesn’t seem like Walter has moved at all. And even though every inch of her screams to avoid whatever the look on his face may be, she chances a peek. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t look particularly upset. He’s just keeping a neutral frown, looking somewhat contemplative. When he notices her, he gives a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah...I kinda figured most of that stuff wasn’t true.” He looks almost guilty about admitting it. 

Willow blanches. “You did?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think you really have the right fire safety habits to be in the scouts. No offense. Plus, I’m pretty sure there’s no badge for bear-taming, no matter how cool it sounds.” 

She feels like her entire head has gone blank at his admission. She stammers, “B-But...Aren’t you upset? That all those things I said that inspired you or whatever aren’t true?” 

“They’re stories,” he says simply, answering Willow’s doubt in that blunt, childlike way only he could. “They’re not meant to always be true.” He grins. “Unless you really believe in a hook-handed man killing people in the woods? Or bog monsters?”

It takes barely a second, and, like she’s forgotten her worry, Willow knocks his shoulder. “Oh shut it. Of course I don’t.” It startles her a bit, just how easily he’s able to lift her mood. Having come down, she’s a bit embarrassed at how much she’s just dumped on him. Walter rubs his shoulder, still grinning, and thankfully not looking too overwhelmed. They sit for a moment, watching the waves. Walter gives a small, thoughtful hum.

“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re really cool. Like, the way you fought off those dogs?” He leaps to his feet, injury apparently forgotten, and waves his fists together like he’s brandishing an invisible spear. “You got all of them without even a scratch! It was amazing! And…” he falters, hands loosening and falling back to rest at his sides. He turns to face her, eyes brimming with sincerity. “You carried me back. Even when I was all messed up. Even though I could tell you were scared too. You still did it. And you sat with me even though it was kinda awkward.” He seems almost embarrassed then, his cheeks darkened in a flush. He shrugs and kicks at the dirt, his hands linking behind his back. “I dunno. I thought that was pretty brave.” 

And in that moment, those words feel like the highest praise she could have ever received. Willow lets out a breathless laugh. “You think so?”

Emphatically, Walter nods. She can’t help but laugh again at that, slouching forward and resting her chin on her palm. And even if her guilt hasn’t entirely melted away, Willow still smiles. 

“Well then. I guess I can’t argue with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://yergink.tumblr.com/) for those interested. I've been dst posting lately.


End file.
